


a home in the clouds

by sapphoslover



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphoslover/pseuds/sapphoslover
Summary: How it feels, to come home, after years of wandering: Bucky feels it when Steve looks at him, barely restrained goodness in every inch of him, all that golden-glow directed at Bucky, that's when he knows he's home.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 40
Collections: Stucky Remix 2020





	a home in the clouds

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Not That Type Of Guy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20353948) by [Roger that (achuislemochroi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/achuislemochroi/pseuds/Roger%20that). 



> this is a remix of the work Not that type of guy, which is absolutely heartbreakingly wonderful in just a few words. 
> 
> AlSO HUGE THANKS TO MY BETA WHO WAS VERY SUPPORTIVE WHO HELPED ME DRAFT THE IDEA OF IT AND WHO MADE THIS WORTH POSTING. THANK YOU SO MUCH. I COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU

It takes a while, he supposes. It takes a while, he would say, to get  _ used _ to it, but he doesn’t quite know what it means to get used to something he has no recollection of, no muscle memory embedded into his skin. It’s easiest with Steve, easy to let him under his skin. It feels more natural than breathing. 

Bucky play-acts at a parody of normalcy, prods at the flesh of it with trembling fingers, makes tea for Steve in the mornings and cooks dinner for him at night. 

He fits the crevices of Steve’s smile inside the gaps between his memory and ties them together with his heart-strings. A keepsake.

Steve smiles at him every morning and kisses the corner of his mouth before he goes to work, fights monsters and saves the world. 

Bucky stays on the sofa in their small apartment in Brooklyn and wrings his hands waiting for Steve. Steve says Bucky saves the world from the sofa in Brooklyn. Bucky isn’t sure if he believes him.

But he knows he hasn’t been cleared yet, knows that Steve’s eyes would flit towards him in the middle of a battleground, knows the suspicion, the distrust in Steve’s eyes like the back of his hand.

So, he stays behind. He stays and he waits. On the days his mind seems to wrench its way out of the pits of some sort of hell, he knits. He watches something called Youtube, something new that spreads like sunlight over his body, something he slips into so very easily. 

He buys some needles, some wool and Steve kisses him breathless every time he sees him knitting. 

He sits on the sofa with tea next to him and waits, his hands moving with the needles as if that’s all they know how to do.

Bucky knows that’s not true, but he lets himself indulge, lets himself pretend that his hands don’t know the edges of weaponry as well as they do, soothes himself with small mercies. The large ones are much harder to find. And he doesn’t quite know if he deserves any of them.

Steve comes home in the evening, a little worn around the edges, but whole, whole, whole, brightness and sunlight reflecting off him even at the worst of times.

Bucky kisses him. Even now, loving Steve comes to him easily, like stepping into your childhood home, every crevice, every nook embedded into the very core of your being. 

His love for Steve is like that, like coming home.

It’s easy to get him to sit down, to fuss over him like he did when they were 16, and it lights something in Bucky when Steve laughs with his head thrown back and eyes alight, alight, alight. 

“Not 16 anymore, Buck.” He says as Bucky tries to get him to sit down.

“No, but you’re still as reckless, though, aren’t you? Sit down, you punk. I’m not helping you up when you pass out on the floor.” 

Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck, breathes in, in, in.

“You smell good. What have you been doing?”

“Baking. Someone needs to feed your sorry ass something other than those frozen-pizzas monstrosities.” 

“Aw, aren’t you the perfect housewife, Buck?”

“It’s going to take more than pretty words to get me to marry you, Stevie.” Bucky grins, heart beating humming-bird fast in the cavity of his chest as Steve smiles slowly, softly at him.

“Ask for anything, Buck, it’s all yours.” Steve says, the evening sunlight crossing through the window in beams, falling over Steve’s hair, painting him a god. In times like this, Bucky wishes he could draw, just so that the picture of Steve painted golden would persist forever, because Bucky doesn’t quite trust his memory yet.

But he closes his eyes, and attaches the image Steve makes in the middle of their kitchen to the back of his eyelids, wills it to stay, stay, stay. It won’t be taken from him, not again.

He’s not very good with words, he thinks he might have been, once, he’s not sure how much of that was just a pretense. 

So he kisses Steve, as gently as he can, wraps his arms around his neck and swallows Steve’s laughter.

___

After dinner, when Bucky’s got his feet in Steve’s lap, he says, “I was wondering if maybe we should invite some of the team for dinner.” 

“Hm?” Bucky says, eloquence in every inch of it.

“Maybe just Natasha and Sam. I was thinking we could tell them.” 

“Oh?”   


“You don’t want to?”

“No, I, I do. If you want to. Would they mind?”

“Why would they mind? They’re not homophobic.”

Bucky’s lived more than anyone has a right to, he’s seen and done things no one should ever have to and yet, saying no to Steve makes claws tighten around his undead heart.

“Okay, Stevie.” His heart beats loud inside his chest and his fingers clench on their own accord. He knows Steve’s friends aren’t homophobic. 

But he also knows the way they look at him, vicious distrust present in their eyes and hands, cataloging Bucky’s every movement around Steve as he does the same to them. 

He’s loved Steve for almost all the time he has considered himself alive, a person. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be a person, to  _ feel, _ and not be able to love Steve.

But he knows who he is, sees the memories of blood and white-hot pain painted in vivid-acrylics behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. He knows what his hands have done. He does not blame Steve’s friends for their distrust.

But he also knows the stubbornness that Steve wears like a crown, knows that no matter what Steve’s friends or Bucky say, Steve will do what he thinks is right.

Bucky hopes and prays to any God that might be listening that Steve won’t have to pay the price for that.

“I won’t do all the cooking, you brute.” He says, through the thumping in his ears.

“Of course not, baby.” Steve grins, all teeth and steady gumption, unshaken resolve that withstood 70-so years in frigid cold. Bucky  _ loves  _ him, as much as something like him is able to, something broken and put back in the wrong order, Bucky loves him with all the strength the Soldier had but hopefully, hopefully,  _ hopefully,  _ none of the violence. 

___

  
  


On the way back from the grocery shop, they find a cat. It’s white, like a cloud with black spots etched on it like thunder in a black sky. It’s beautiful.

“Steve, we have to take her home.” 

“What, Buck, what do either of us know about caring for a cat?”

“What do you mean? We look after her, get her food, take her on walks and love her to death.”

Steve shakes his head, a slight smile on his face, “Buck, we won’t have time.”

“Won’t have time? Steve, I’m at home all day. Please, look, she’s hugging me. Are you really going to deny a brainwashed ex-assassin the simplest comforts of life?”

Steve sighs, his whole body moving with it, then picks up the cat.

“The things I do for you, Buck.” He says, mouth lilting on one side.

Bucky knows the things Steve does for him; nobody loves like that, that hard, that wonderfully, Bucky knows. 

___

  
  


They name her Alpine. There’s no collar on her and she jumps into Bucky’s arms with an ease he is not accustomed to. 

He promises to die for her if need be. With the way she purrs in his arms, he thinks she might have understood him.

She sits next to the sink and stares at them with universe-laden eyes as he and Steve cook spaghetti. 

“She’s taken a liking to you. I’m not at all surprised. But if you keep looking at her like that, I’m gonna be jealous.” Steve leans his hip against the counter, looking at Bucky with glinting eyes that he thinks might be the reason he fell for Steve years and years ago.

“There’s no reason to be jealous, Stevie. You’re pretty, but she’s stolen my heart.” Bucky grins, relishes in the fact that he gets to have this, a semblance of normalcy that bleeds into his skin and settles there like a familiar ache.

Steve grabs him by his waist, hand fitting there as if they’ve been doing this for centuries.

Bucky remembers, suddenly and vividly, standing in their old Brooklyn apartment with Steve’s hand on his waist, talking about something so very mundane, before the war.

He looks at Steve, taller and older but just as golden, righteousness coming from his every pore, and falls in love harder than he did at 16, with a head full of hope.

His palm, where it rests on top of Steve’s on his waist, is full of hope, now. It’s different but it’s also the same.

Steve leans in, his lips brushing along his cheek, a parody of a kiss, a brush of sea-salt along his skin, and says, “I’m going to steal it back, then.” 

Bucky shoves at his chest, says, “Cook. They’re your friends,” and hides his smile in Alpine’s shoulder.

___

Natasha and Sam bring with them a bottle of wine wrapped in pretty, unassuming suspicion as they hand it to Bucky.

Alpine hisses softly, but relaxes when Sam coos at her. 

Sam pats Bucky on the back before he lunges at Steve.

Natasha looks at him, eyes assessing, assessing, assessing, a gaze that could have almost made the Soldier envious.

He knows what she’s capable of, knows she loves Steve silently but in a way that is deadly.

Bucky smiles at her, slightly unsure, and takes her coat. Steve scoops her into his arms and Natasha laughs.

“So this is your palace. Better than our humble abode at Stark Tower?” She raises an eyebrow, a slight quirk to her mouth, grace unlike anything Bucky’s ever seen in every inch of her. 

“It’s slightly similar to the one we had back in Brooklyn.” Bucky says, and Natasha’s eyes rest on him again. It unnerves him, and he fidgets until Steve’s hand rests on his back, a soft glow of a smile on his face.

“It is.” Steve says, “Buck was the one who found it, then. This time, I found it.” 

Natasha softens a fraction and it makes something unclench in Bucky’s chest. 

“Okay, I don’t know what you all are playing at but I really want some food.” Sam says, all bright light radiating from him, and Bucky is so fucking sorry for hurting him, all of them.

He smiles at him and goes to get food. Sam smiles back. It’s something close to redemption.

___

  
  


Bucky watches them eat, watches as conversation flows easily, watches Natasha glance at him and Steve. Bucky watches, watches, watches. 

He doesn’t belong,  _ can’t _ belong. He knows that. But it’s easy to forget when Steve looks at him with his face open and fits love into Bucky’s body with the way he holds him, kisses him, forgives him.

“So,” Steve begins as Alpine finds her way into Bucky’s lap, a comfort, “Buck and I want to tell you something?”

“To be fair, it was Steve’s idea.” Bucky says.

“Oh no,” Sam groans, setting his fork down, “Are you two asking us to go on a killing-spree road-trip? Because I’m in, but I’m gonna need a lot more pasta.”

Steve laughs and Bucky grins at Sam, so very grateful for all his light.

“Nope, but you’re the first person we’d go to.” Bucky says.

“I’m offended, Barnes.” Natasha raises an eyebrow, mouth tilted up at the corner.

Steve swats at her, eyes bright with laughter, “Actually, Bucky and I are together, um, dating, in a relationship, whatever the lingo is.” 

“God, please don’t ever say lingo again, Cap,” Sam says, “but, congratulations.”

Steve grins, wraps an arm around the back of Bucky’s chair.

“Since when?” Natasha questions.

Bucky’s palms sweat and he buries them in Alpine’s fur. 

“Well, Since the 30s, really, but we had a bit of a break.” Steve says.

Natasha nods, looks at Bucky again. She smiles, but her eyes rest on Bucky’s, quietly assessing, “Congratulations, Cap.” Steve looks at him from the corner of his eyes, “I told you they’d be cool.” 

Bucky manages a smile and hides the way discomfort settles into his bones as he picks up the dishes to wash them.

He knows Natasha follows, as does Alpine.

She has Alpine in her arms when she says, “Bucky.”

He turns to face her, leaning against the counter. She looks a vision, in their small kitchen with Alpine in her arms.

He says, “I will  _ never  _ hurt Steve.”

Natasha looks at him in a way that makes him feel splayed open, all parts up for examination, and Bucky wishes, for a terrible second, that he could have the numbness of the Soldier back.

“You haven’t, yet.” Natasha says, “Remember that if you do, I will personally eviscerate you.”

Bucky closes his eyes, his hands itching for something to hold, “I know. I wouldn’t expect anything else.” 

“Good. Other than that, he seems happy. He deserves that. Don’t take that away from him. He’s stubborn but so am I. If you ever hurt him or any of us, Barnes, I will destroy you.”

“I know.” Bucky says.

“Good,” Natasha says. “The cat’s lovely,”

“Her name is Alpine. We found her outside the store.”

Natasha’s eyes soften, just a little. “She’s beautiful.”

Bucky smiles, “She is.”

___

Sam hugs him when he and Natasha leave and Bucky whispers his apology, all of them, into Sam’s ears.

Sam smiles at him when he pulls away. Something lightens in him when Sam smiles. Bucky’s not sure if it’s forgiveness but, if it is, he doesn’t think he deserves it.

Natasha shakes his hand and hugs Steve.

“Well,” Steve begins, “that went well.”

Bucky hovers and Steve takes him in his arms, kisses his hair with a gentleness that makes him ache, “Come on, let’s clean up then go to bed.”

Bucky agrees.

___

It rains, thunderously, and Bucky wakes up. He wasn’t sleeping well, anyhow, unease settled somewhere in his ribcage like weeds. 

He goes to the kitchen, makes himself coffee and sits on the table, Alpine settling herself in his lap.

The rain falls, indifferent and heavy, a cleansing. Bucky needs one of those, he supposes. 

He does not notice Steve come in.

“Buck?”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”

Steve shakes his head as he sits next to Bucky, “You okay?

He looks beautiful like this, Bucky thinks, sleep rumpled and soft. It makes his chest ache with how much he loves him, how much he always has. He couldn’t stop, ever. 

“Yeah, Stevie.” He says, voice a little hoarse, a little unsteady.

“Buck,” Steve rests his hand on top of Bucky’s, the warmth of it something like an awakening.

“I just, Steve, I, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Did Nat say something? Because Buck, I swear -”

Bucky shakes his head, “No, Steve, I, you, what if I’m not right anymore?”

“Buck,” Steve says in the same voice that could stop wars, the same voice Bucky wouldn’t want to live without, now that he knows what it’s like to live again. “I have never been happier. I’ve been alive for fucking ages and I felt like a ghost. You make me want to live, Buck. Nothing that happened was your fault. And I’ll fight everyone, even you, if you try to take yourself away from me again.”

Bucky wants to laugh at this maddening man, this man who Bucky found his way back to, somehow, this man who is his home, his salvation.

“I love you.” He says, “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then don’t,” Steve says. “I don’t care what they say. There’s nothing they can do to take you away, Buck. I won’t let them.”

He’s still the same, Bucky thinks, the same 16 year old boy getting beaten up in an alley, and taking it all, standing up, the same boy willing to fight, fight, fight, and knowing when to stop.

The same boy Bucky would die for, over and over, even if it meant having his mind and body broken down and created into something monstrous. Bucky would do anything, if it meant that he would get to love Steve again, get to watch the sun set on him, get to bathe himself in Steve’s golden-glow. 

“You’re still a little shit, Stevie,” he says through the lump in his throat, through the hammering of his heart in his ears.

Steve smiles, grabs his hand, “Come on, Buck. Come home.” 

Bucky follows, with an armful of Alpine.

He doesn’t quite know if he still belongs here, if there’s any place for him to belong but Steve holds him with iron-strength and his undead heart beats to the pace of Steve’s breathing.

He wakes up next to Steve on their bed and not on a table with no memory. If this is his redemption, his salvation, he’ll take it. 

He’ll guard it behind trembling fingers and hold it close to his chest along with the sound of the rain on the pavement.

Bucky falls asleep, and when he wakes up, Steve is there and something in his chest loosens and doesn’t tighten again. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> title is from the aeroplane over the sea by neutral milk hotel.
> 
> thank you for reading!!! comment or leave kudos if you'd like. they make my day.
> 
> find me on [ tumblr ](https://theskyisgay021.tumblr.com/) and come say hi if you'd like!


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